Challenge 27 - Power Tools

After days trying to sand my chair by hand with 240 grit sandpaper I decide to defer to Partner's suggestion and bring in modern technology.

Go to 1st birthday party of friend's son. Give present, kiss baby, ask to borrow sander.

Men pause. Air thickens. Silently they rise and march to Inner Sanctum (i.e. shed) without me. Tool borrowing is serious business. Tool borrowing involves treaties, trade agreements and conventions no woman is privy to. Men are in there a long time. Have I asked too much? Did I push too hard ...? Partner appears holding sander like newborn child. Success!

Partner observes me sanding chair by hand. 'That's 80 grit,' he says. 'You'll leave grooves in the wood.'

I ignore.

'You going to use the sander? Doing it like that? Well, it's kind of a waste of life.'

I don't tell Partner I am having a bad day - so bad in fact that sanding the bloody chair by hand was the best thing about it; meditative in fact, like watering 1/2 acre of lawn by hand. (Am very Zen when upset.)

Partner gets out sander and does technical stuff. Holds it out to me. 'Don't think you can hurt yourself with that.'

Has this guy met me? I take sander like it's a snake. Examine closely. Sandpaper is 80 grit. Ha! Start sanding. Great clouds of old varnish, wood and goodness knows what (is that peanut butter??) float around me like a toxic cloud. Hand begins to ache. And back. And neck.

Manage to run sander over thumb. Is okay - haven't had any feeling in top of thumb since run-in with Vengeful Duck. Bastard! Now have Legacy of Vengeful Duck!

Grit in eyes, up nose, down shirt, in hair. Decide sanding more enjoyable with Champagne. Alcohol steadies the hand, right? That's why professional pool players are banned from a soothing larger before tourney. Decide logic is sound. Pour, drink, sand. Second glass and chair looks good.

Turn chair over. Seat falls off. Have Champagne.

Strangely no longer concerned by lack of seat on chair. I can fix that. I can fix anything!

Time to down tools. Am leaving for holiday tomorrow and need to pick. I mean pack. Shall finish chair and begin on table when I return.

Final Note: Am 'going bush' for three weeks - no internet, no mobile phone coverage. Just three weeks of swimming, eating, cooking and laughing at the stars. Ripe pickings for New Challenges! Especially since Little Brother has new pets: tarantulas called Incey and Wincey. Little Brother also has sense of humour. Did I mention I don't do spiders?

Anyhow, shall try to Post whenever we 'go to town'.

Wish me luck with the spiders!

Challenge 26 - Belly of the Beast

I'm not what you'd call 'well-traveled'. Having said that, I've been lost, shot, robbed and disoriented without ever having to take a long-haul flight, which pretty much evens things out in my book. (The shooting was an air slug to the left butt cheek, but it still counts).

I wake up feeling intrepid. With this in mind I pack myself off to the train station and buy a ticket to No Man's Land, aka, the nastier, dirtier and creepier parts of a place called The Valley. Every city has one. It's where they shoot all the cop shows.

Partner declines to join me on grounds that he doesn't fancy the smell of urine. I feel open-minded and ready to embrace the grottier parts of our culture. Especially in broad daylight. Hit The Valley and take a big noseful of air. Over-ripe mangoes, incense, curry, body odour - no urine. Make note. There's graffiti, filthy pavement, litter and shops with names like Lucky 7, and cafes with crusty ducks in the window hanging by thier feet. We're close to Chinatown (these guys know how to treat a duck). Realise I'm hungry.

Know a Chinese supermarket/acupunturist/herbalist around here (stock must mix 'n match). I want to eat something weird - I mean genuine - not the bog-standard ho-hums found on your average restuarant menu. I go in search of authentic ingredients to make something myself - dried giblets, sharkfins, mouldering mushrooms - anything I need to Google to identify.

Wing Hing's is shut on Wednesday. Today Wednesday! No where else on my radar sells bits of unidentifiable weirdness.

Not to be defeated I find Indian supermarket.

Cool Bollywood music has my sandals tapping. Myriad smells, colours, sounds and strange words cause firestorm in synapses. By God, I love food! Heaps of stuff I can't pronounce. V. authentic. Some bling and a damp sari and I'd be unstoppable.

Asafoetida, Gorkeri, Veola ... no wait. Veola is hand cream. No good on pappadums.

'Bombay Duck Pickle'! Nice to see one of the bastards put to good use. Blurb reads: The Bombay Duck is a fish, so called because it is only found in the Arabian Sea. Some of the world's mysteries were never meant to be solved ...

Shopgirl tries to sell me massive sack of Atta flour so my chappatis are soft. Tell her I left my mule at home. No response. I buy 1kg of flour and find sudden interest in DVD selection - esp. the Indian Ray Romano with cowboy hat and chiquita in a damp sari.

I walk out into the heart of Chinatown and am accosted by ABBA, piped through street P.A. system. Do police know about this?! Sacrilege!

Go in search of Authentic Lunch. Am tourist in No Man's Land, so look for strip club to eat toxic bar nuts and check out Miss Electra's competition. None appear to be open. Wrong time of day for the Night Crawlers. (Probably why I'm still alive).

Find tiny restaurant with no roundeyes in sight - food must be authentic! Order Five Treasures With Rice. No clue what treasure is but 'treasure' implies tasty goodness. (Rice self - explanatory).

Old Asian lady barks question at me. Pardon? Again. Pardon? Points at grey/green orbs in window and raises eyebrows in universal motion. Yes! Sure! Is it hot? She stalks off, comes back and hands me soup. Soup clear and patently free from green orbs or treasures. Or rice.

I eat soup. Tastes like Honeydew melon and chicken fat. Smile happily at staff. Old lady drops plate of Five Tresures in front of me. The Mother Load! Huge pile rice with 5 different shiny meats on it. Hang on ... are there five meats? And why is the only readily identifiable meat bleeding? Sashimi chicken!!! NOOOOOOOO!!!!!! I smile happily.

Oh God. Chopsticks. Wave at old Lady. Communication problematic so I simply demostrate my chopstick prowess and let her work it out. She rolls eyes and brings fork and spoon. No knife. I smile happily. Grey/green orbs turn out to be hundred year old eggs, which taste better than they sound. And kind of salty.

Overall: shiny, meaty, mystery treasures were pretty awesome. Apart from al dente chook.

Convinced I'm likely to die some time after lunch, I decide to be reckless. Go into seedy, sex part of town. People spit on ground, sleep on benches, lurch around in gangs. Tattoos, piercings, bad vibes. Me in Birkenstock sandals, Colorado shirt, red straw hat, backpack and neon sing on back that says 'Mug Me!'. Self-preservation gene kicks in. Time to get out.

At train station I walk past a man.

'Grrrrrrrrr ...'

I've had enough. 'Did you just growl at me?' I ask most forcefully. Me and my red straw hat.

'Me?' he says. 'Nope.'

'You did. You growled.'

'No I didn't. It was a yawn.'

I give him my Disapproving Mummy glare.

'Sorry,' he says.

And that's me, reporting from the Belly of the Beast. The police have said I might be able to ride along with them in The Valley one night in the new year, just so I can see what the worst of the worst is like after dark.

Boy, am I looking forward to that!

Challenge 25 - Fit to Strip Pt 2

Okay, Carmen Electra. I admit I was under-prepared for Fit to Strip - The Lap Dance. I was arrogant. I was ambitious. I was so bad the chair was embarrassed.

Not this time, My Pretty. This time have done my homework:

1. Watched Demi Moore in Striptease (Oscar-worthy performance by her bottom sadly overshadowed by Burt Reynolds' surgical resurrection and scary toupee).

2. Have fancy painted toenails (Ladybirds - very sexy, but maybe only if you are Man Ladybird, which in itself is sexually confusing).

3. Have gone blonde (Eeek!)

4. Rented Fit to Strip Vol 1 (uses words like 'basic', 'introduction' and 'low impact' - that's me!).


Miss Electra tells me she's going to work my thighs, hips, buns and abs. Mmmm ... buns ... No! Workout now, buns later. Witness my self-control!

Says a good warm-up is key to avoiding injury. Wish she'd mentioned that on the Lap Dance DVD before I pulled a hamstring getting intimate with a piece of furniture. Okay, doing warm-up.

'5, 6, 7, 8 and 2, 2, 3,4, 5, 6, 7, 8 and 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 and 4 ...'

Give up trying to count with Carmen. Must be sub rosa stripper algorithm too advanced for my feeble brain.

Instructed to do Cat Cow yoga pose. Try to make cow look sexy but only manage cow who really needs milking. Ponder this and decide it's probably the same thing. Only so much a cow can do, really.

Says 'hip rolls' are foundation for any good striptease. Finally! I have hip rolls - probably from too many buns.

Finish warm-up and get into The Routine. Excitement palpable. Miss Electra toying with me like co-ed with down-filled pillow and glint in her eye. I follow obediently. Swing head in circles with abandon and glasses fly off. Deduce strippers must wear contacts (notable exception - naughty school ma'am routine).

I'm with her all the way: '5, 6, 7, 8-' bend down, grab ankles, slide up, touch butt and smack it. What? Must be punishment for buns. Or rolls ...

Realise I'm still in PJs. Oh well. Had to come off sooner or later.

Phew! Am hungry after all that creeping, crawling, slapping and slinking. Have sticky bun in fridge. It's her fault ... all that talk of buns. But I have secret weapon! Hold Haematite Stone Blessed by Gnomes and resist bun. Kazam! It works!

Sit down with Master Three to watch re-runs of Battlestar Gallactica. We do nothing but have cuddles and eat ham & cheese toasties for a whole hour.

It's going to be a good day. Yes sir, I can feel it in my bones.

Challenge 24 - Chair Repair

Ah, wood. Who doesn't love a bit first thing in the morning?

Today is Chair Restoration Day. It was supposed to be Table Restoration Day but Partner said it was insane to sand a six foot table by hand. After an hour on the chair and scant progress made, I find I must concur with my learned friend.

I've never restored anything in my life. If the fix isn't quick I just buy another whatever-it-is and toss the old one out. How wasteful! If you click on the pic you will see just how sad the finish is on this chair. So off I popped to the hardware store and stocked up on sandpaper and varnish.

It's prudent to note here that the only woodworking experience I have was at High School. I had my own work bench because the other kids claimed to value their lives. Honestly - one little accident with a nail gun ...

So, with my trusty sandpaper and a pocket full of faith, I begin.

It's very meditative, this repetitive motion - working, working, working toward a single, simple goal. My mind wanders pleasantly and the minutes tick by unheeded.

Master Three is helping me. He's chuffed to be doing 'woodwork' with Mummy. That's been the unexpected bonus of this little adventure. The children see me doing something new and exciting and they want to join in . They are inspired, and what parent doesn't want to be an inspiration to their children? They see that it's okay to try something new and whether the results are spectacular or a spectacular failure matters not.

The fun - the adventure - is in the trying.

Challenge 23 - Idea to Fruition

This morning I painted my toenails black with red spots like a Ladybird. This of itself isn't strange but it is indicative of something. I feel 'arty'.

The arty feeling hits often but goes nowhere. My brother was the Artist in the family (note collage from previous post). I was the- God knows what I was but it frightened my parents. Poor things. Then I turn my awakenings of evil toward law school. She is Lost! they cried.

Point being, today I had no excuse not to finish the cartoon I was brainstorming a few blogs ago. I took up my box of pencils and began in earnest at about lunch time. Then came the trip to pre-prep to hand in forms, the library book that had to be returned, the child that had to be collected from school (God forbid!) and all the attendant stuff that happens with two hungry, hot, excitable kids at home.

Point is it took me ages and I had lots of little people trying to help me. I finally finished the carton and showed Partner. 'I don't get it,' he said.

Felt like slamming the door on my own head. After all this time and effort! My first toon is a bust!

It's because I can't draw @#$#%^#^CATS isn't it.

I knew they would undo me in the end!

Anybody out there get it? At least a little bit?

Challenge 22 - Witchcraft or Whatcraft?

Went to library to research magic tricks for Master Three's birthday. Computer searches kept throwing up witch-related stuff.

Type 'Witchcraft' into search box. Computer gets half way through search and grinds to a halt. 'Error on page' it informs me. Wooooo. Spooky. Abandon search for party tricks in favour of the Dark Magix (bunny in a hat? Pah! Shall conjure him a pony - possibly also in hat).

Have always been completely superstitious and totally scornful of 'magic'. Irony apparent. Show me proof (or Poof!) and I shall believe!

Today's Challenge: Cast a spell (that works)

Start reading book. Let's see ... universe, crystals, blah blah, stars, energy pathways, blah blah. Where's the good stuff? Like, like giving enemy scabies or making self look like Carmen Electra while doing Fit To Strip For Beginners? Book says any spell cast will be returned three-fold.

Cancel scabies.

Right. Says make wand. Okaaaay. Filch one from Miss Eight's toybox (has sparkles). Next: Don't work spells when tired, lethargic or pre-occupied. Sheesh! Am a mother! Have coffee, clear brain and move on. Time to choose spell.

Choose Strengthening Willpower. This was made for me.

Require:
Salt - Check
Haematite stone - errr. Having chops for tea. Rub rock on chop to acquire haemoglobin. Check!
Wand - Check
Red Candle - Check
Bach flower essence - (I can't believe what I have in my cupboard) Check!
Gold thread - Yellow close enough - Check

Says best done on a Tuesday. Is Tuesday in US (book non-hemisphere-specific) - Check!

1. Cast Sacred Circle with wand. Put stuff in circle.
2. Pick stuff up. Wave stone over flame.
3. Call Sylphs, Salamanders, Undies - sorry - Undines and Gnomes to bless my rock.
4. Tie up rock in cloth, sprinkle flower essence.
5. Don't forget your manners - say thankyou.
6. Hold rock when eyeing off that last bit of chockie in the fridge.

Piece of cake!

I mean, no. No cake! Am strong, like rock! And smell kind of flowery...

Conclusion: Shall keep you posted on rock's dissuasive powers when midnight munchies come around.

Mmmm ... chocolate ...

ART: MESMER ON VENUS, by ROHAN MAZLIN

Challenge 21 - The Lap Dance

Could it be true? Say it isn't so! In my attempt to shake things up and get a life I have traded one rut for another.

Stairs ... origami ... yoga ... stairs ... origami ... yoga ...

See a pattern forming?

I go in search of more interesting exercise. Feel frumpy anyway - feeling aided by the fact I bought a second pair of Birkenstocks today (my feet are in love. They betray me!).

Find exercise that not only burns calories but makes me into instant sex kitten. Hurrah! Allow me to introduce CARMEN ELECTRA'S FIT TO STRIP - The Lap Dance! Heck, I'm all for any exercise that involves sitting down.

This is not Denise Austin, darling of the discreet and dainty 80s workout crowd. This is in -your-face (sorry) hands-on (sorry, sorry) give-it-up-baby (yeah I give up) 'exercise' routines from the Real McCoy.

Watch Miss Electra introduce herself and explain how awesomely sexy we're all going to be by the end. I'm pumped. I'm ready.

I'm being observed by my three year old ...

Plug him into a computer chess game and retreat to air conditioned privacy of bedroom. Dim lights. A layer of cigarette smoke and the sour smell of desperation and I could be in any strip club in the world. Have chair with imaginary fat truck driver. Don't have knee boots with four inch heel but Birkenstocks feel fine (excellent arch support).

Grab back of chair, lean forward and shake bum from side to side: one two, and one two, and one two. I'm feelin' it! Hit pause and run to ensuite to check sexy-quotient. Look mildly sweaty and confused. Try more bum swings. One two, and one two. Four minutes in and I pull a hamstring. Massage it out in sexy manner.

Next bit: sit on chair and do some sort of Whoopty Do. Run back to ensuite and apply make up so I don't feel wierd rubbing own thighs while watching DVD of strange woman with strategic enhancements.

Something feels wrong. Technique? Trunk size? Belief in my own Woman Power? All of the above, really.

Miss Electra finishes and I'm finished. Look at DVD case. Lap Dance is for Advanced Whores (I mean Ladies). Okay. Resolve to start at beginning of series. Then test out on Partner. Mwa ha haaa! He shall tremble before me!

Conclusion: I'll never look at a chair the same way again.

Challenge 20 - Guerrilla Art

Since visiting the Gallery of Modern Art, arty stuff has been on my mind. Particularly the kind of art that people are subjected to against their will.

Yes folks, I'm talking about Public Art.

Who are these people? Who decides that the four blue triangles with bowling balls on top are enriching our collective souls? Why is public art (for the most part) sterile, pointless and inaccessible to said public? And don't even ask how much this stuff costs.

Today's Challenge: Design and install an accessible, aesthetically pleasing piece of art in a public place. For free (and preferably lawfully).

I choose a playground. Doesn't get much more public than that.

Assemble tools: Pair of old trousers and a three foot long piece of dowel. Arrive at playground. Kid's birthday party in full swing ... can cope, so long as they don't toucha-da-art. Or want to use the playground within fifteen foot radius of where I'm standing. Should be easy - I have big stick.

Miss Eight tries to steal stick. Put foot on stick and growl. My stick. Operation Public Art begins!

Parents suspicious about stick. Decide to be discreet.

'My Mother the Artist,' shouts Miss Eight from the top of the pirate ship, 'is about to perform a miracle.'

A: Am not artist. B: Don't believe in miracles - believe in occasional confluences of fortunate events.

It's none for none today, however you say it.

Everyone stares. I'm bare foot up to my ankles in leaf litter, holding big stick in one hand and trousers in the other. Hat not large enough to conceal body.

'I'm blind,' I say to the man nearest me. Man looks skeptical.

I use trousers to clear leaf litter, then begin. Idea is to create an ethereal reflection of a fig tree. Must work fast because earth dries quickly in summer and loses discernible contours.

Aesthetically Pleasing Public Art finished! Not really accessible, though ...

'She's very clever,' says lady.

Another pulls her child close. 'Stay away from people with sticks,' she says. 'People with sticks are dangerous.'

'Come on, kids!' I shout. 'Who wants to destroy some art?' Kids stomp and jump all over art. Squeal with the delight of little people who are allowed to do something they know is just that little bit naughty.

Satisfaction. Art now officially Accessible as well.

Challenge 19 - Walking Crab, Hostile Lily

It's Bedtime for Bonzo (aka, Master Three) but he hasn't finished his chess game with Daddy.

I don't know how to play chess. Don't know how to play many games at all, though I have been known to indulge in a bit of Baghdad Monopoly. Buildings have bullet holes and bomb damage and names like Akhmed's Camel Emporium. Not exactly politically correct, but a sense of humour is what sets us apart from the fishes (I was going to say 'apes', but then recalled being mooned by a baboon at the Adelaide zoo).

Point is, I'm at a loose end. Kids doing kid things, food's cooked and personal space is but a pintuck in time away.

'Make a Walking Crab', says Miss Eight. 'But there are three whole pages of instructions,' I say. 'So?' she says.

I clean toilet.

I sigh.

Miss Eight starts singing: 'I saw Mommy kissing Saaaaaanta Clause ...'

Saw Santa two days ago. He smelled like cheese and needed a good dentist. Open origami book to Walking Crab. Sweet Jesus! Could I be ready for Walking Crab? I haven't finished my training, Master!

'I saw Mommy kissing Saaaanta Clause ...'

Crab looks good.

'Mum, Malcolm says he loves me. He chews his clothes.'

Crab looks awesome. Crab instructions, however, look like a third year trig test.

Use Christmas paper because it is pretty. Also turns out to be non-compliant. Step 7: Squash fold. Who fold? Look it up in 'Folds'. It's not there. Use female intuition - I mean fist - and Bam! Squash fold!

Success short-lived. Open Pockets. Hold A, Pull B. Eye starting to twitch. I can do it ... I can do it ... Maybe origami knowledge is cumulative. Like trauma.

Something wrong. Crab looks like beer coaster. Unfold, refold.

I give you Walking Crab!

That doesn't walk.

In fit of pique I take stiff card bought from craft shop and begin to make a Lily. Card also non-compliant. Bully card into something that resembles the picture - but mostly it just resembles a Triffid.

Conclusion: Need to go back to simple stuff. Although those geometric boxes are kind of pretty ...

Challenge 18 - Wax on, wax off

As previously noted I am Team Razor, not Team Wax. Wax seems brutal and unnecessary, like regime change in middle of summer.

Notice eyebrows becoming unkempt. Can't find tweezers. Bought wax a few weeks ago because it was cheap and set at eye level in supermarket. (Simple creature, me).

Take wax out of cupboard and read directions. Heat in microwave for 1 minute. I don't have a microwave. Boil kettle. Try to scoop a bit of cold wax into pot. Wax like concrete.

Must heat wax in plastic container, then decant enough for eyebrows. Submerge wax pot in boiling water. Success! Edge bit runny.

Directions for every part of body except eyebrows. Hmmm. Could mean wax not for eyebrow region. Recall I have Hands Of A Surgeon and proceed accordingly.

Use end of plastic spoon because paddle too big (perfect for groin area - another clue). Wax like mozzarella - strings of it everywhere. Unlike a tasty Italian cheese wax sets like superglue in three seconds flat.

Get wax in eyelash. It won't wash off. Cold water sets it harder and I am forced to read precautions on box. Will not wash off with water. No kidding.

Can't pull eyelash out. Will have bald patch. Need to get to cinema in thirty minutes. Sorry eyelash. You gotta take one for the cause.

Eyes watering. Mascara running. I'm late!

I hate wax.

Challenge 17 - Hallelujah, It's Raining Frogs

Thirty-one frogs.

Can count those. Counting children at kindy, however is like counting blowflies in bottle. The din like an F111 taking off. And the fear ... oh the fear ...

Thought Scout Camp would prepare me for dealing with group-frenzy situation. The sheer terror of all those beady little eyes looking to you for love and guidance. Well, maybe not love. Or guidance, for that matter.

Looking at you for non-threatening contact and lawful discipline ...

Semantics aside, I couldn't believe how nervous I was this morning. It was like an oral exam at uni or giving a speech at a work conference. Had I prepared well enough? Did I need to explain the history of origami? Do I need a map with Japan on it? If I tell them paper was invented 2000 years ago do I need to explain what a year is? Argh!

Showed them some pictures. 'I can't see!' shouts little girl. Move book. 'I can't see!' shouts little boy. Forget book. Start folding. For the love of God start folding.

'Anyone know what this is?' I ask. 'A paper plane!' they shout. They always shout. 'Yes,' I say. 'That's how we Caucasian folk make a paper plane. Now look at this one.' I hold up another plane. Silence. Decide to abandon words with too many claps. 'This is what an origami paper plane looks like. Which one will go better?'

'That one That one!' they all shout, pointing at the Caucasian plane. Ha! I know the answer and they don't. Feel superior for first time that day.

Throw first plane. Nose dives into foot. Throw second plane. Soars gracefully around room and into far wall. Children squeal with delight. I'm on a winner!

'This is how you make a hopping frog,' I say and start folding. 'I can't see!' miscellaneous child shouts. I lean forward. 'I can't see!' shouts another. Desk is shin height so now I'm on knees leaning with arms fully extended. Frog doesn't look quite right.

Frog fails to hop.

'Look!' I say. 'I made a frog for each of you.' Meaning: Love me and my awesome effort to amuse you on my precious day off. Or else.

'I want a dinosaur!' shouts little boy. He's trouble. Can see it in his eyes. Shifty ...

'I want a crab!' shouts another.

First boy scrunches frog and drops onto floor. I show lots of teeth. It could be a smile - they'd never know the difference.

Calm thoughts ... calm thoughts ... I am a leaf on the wind ...

At home partner suggests I'm well-suited to being a clown for children's parties. Don't they all feel the same way?

Conclusion: Glad I didn't do balloon animals. Small mercies ... small mercies ....